The Watcher

  “She lives in San Diego, they questioned her but she claimed she hadn’t seen Clayton since he was a child,” I say, still reading.

  “That’s likely, especially in the foster system. You get a name?”

  I keep reading, running my finger down the page until I spot it.

  “Georgia Dumas. There’s an address.”

  Kenai grins at me. “Nice work, baby. You might have a future in detective work.”

  I smile and huff. “I doubt it, considering all I did was read a file.”

  “You did good.”

  “So, are we going to pay Georgia a visit?”

  Kenai nods, closing the file. “We most certainly are, but for right now, I’m taking you to bed.”

  My cheeks heat.

  I drop the file.

  Sounds perfect to me.

  SEVENTEEN

  “Fuck,” Kenai growls, running a hand through his hair.

  We both stare at his truck. The tires are slashed, the windows broken, but it’s the words I’M WATCHING spray-painted along the side that get to us the most. Whoever has my sister, they’re smart and they’re close. And whoever it is, is obviously following us.

  “What do we do now?” I ask, rubbing the chills from my arms.

  “We’ll hire a car.”

  “He’s watching us,” I say, tucking myself into Kenai’s side as my eyes scan the parking lot.

  “Yeah, we’re being watched. We need to be more careful. Whoever it is doesn’t want us figuring this out. They like the game. Most killers do.”

  “Do you think he was listening last night?”

  “Possibly. I guess we’ll find out when we arrive at Georgia’s house. Right now, we need to keep our eyes open. We’re not safe.”

  I nod and stick to Kenai’s side as we move out onto the street and flag down a cab. It takes us to a car rental company where we get ready to hit the road. The entire drive back towards California passes in silence. My mind is spinning with the possibilities. Whoever is following us is clever. I continually look behind us, staring into all the cars following, wondering which one he or she is in.

  My phone rings, jerking me out of my thoughts. It’s Hannah. I haven’t called her for a few days.

  “Hey,” I say, answering in a tired voice.

  “Hey. I was just checking in on you. I haven’t heard from you in a few days. You okay? Is everything going well?”

  I sigh. “Not really. Turns out Chris isn’t the one who has Kaity.”

  She gasps. “What do you mean?”

  “We got to LA and found out we’d been led down the wrong path.”

  “Who would do that?”

  My eyes flick to Kenai, and he shakes his head. He doesn’t want me to say anything.

  “We’re not sure yet, but we’re going back over the case now.”

  “Poor Kaity,” Hannah says, her voice worried. “I can only imagine what she’s going through right now.”

  Guilt and fear go to war in my chest and I mumble, “Yeah.”

  “I just wanted to check in on you, see how you were. I know this must be hard for you.”

  “It is,” I admit. “I’m terrified for her.”

  “I would be, too.”

  “Anyway, I have to go, Han. I’ll keep you updated.”

  “Stay safe, Marlie. I don’t want you to get hurt again, too.”

  “I won’t. Bye.”

  I hang up and turn to Kenai.

  “Sorry,” he says. “Don’t want anyone knowing what we’re doing, not when we’re being watched. You could be putting anyone you tell in danger.”

  Of course.

  I can’t believe I didn’t think of that. “Of course. Thank you.”

  “Hannah hasn’t heard anything?”

  I shake my head. “No. She’s just worried, like the rest of us.”

  “Has your mom called again?”

  I grunt. “Yeah right. She’s too busy trying to make more money.”

  Kenai shakes his head, and points left into a gas station. “We’ll fill up, get some food, and get as far as we can tonight.”

  I nod as he parks. “I have to pee anyway.”

  I climb out of the car and move towards the building while Kenai starts filling up. There aren’t many people around. I stare into the window as I pass and see an elderly man at the counter. He stares at me, and I give him a small smile. I have a funny feeling in my stomach, but I move towards the restrooms, which are in a large brick building at the back of the station.

  I duck into the ladies room, and scrunch my nose. It obviously hasn’t been cleaned for a long time. I’m starting to wonder if I would have been better off squatting under a tree. I pick the cleanest of the three toilets and line the seat with toilet paper. Then I quickly do my business. Just then, I hear the outside door slam shut and see the lights flick out. The entire restroom goes dark. There are no windows. It’s old and made of cinderblocks. My heart leaps into my throat and I stand. “Hello?”

  I can’t hear anything for a few seconds.

  Then I hear it.

  “Brush it, Marlie. That’s Sasha’s pretty hair. Pretend Sasha is here, pretend you’re having a little girls party. What would you say to her?”

  No.

  Oh God.

  The recording continues, filling the restroom. Hearing his voice is like a punch to the gut. My knees tremble. I reach for the door to let myself out, but I can’t move it. I bang against it, fists pounding. “Let me out!” I scream.

  “I-I-I’d say—”

  “Don’t talk to me, Marlie, talk to Sasha. Ask her about the boy she’s seeing.”

  “Are you still seeing that boy, Sasha?”

  “Very good. What would Sasha say back?”

  “Let me out!” I bellow, hammering my fists against the door. “Let me go.”

  The horrible recording of my nightmare continues.

  “I-I-I’d say, he’s so good looking, don’t you think?”

  “Keep going. What else would you say to Sasha about the boy she likes?”

  “I think he’s very handsome. Do you?”

  “Make her tell you what she’s going to do with him.”

  Something moves outside the door, then something is tossed over the top of the stall, landing right on top of me. It’s a lock of thick hair. I scream and scramble backwards, falling against the toilet. The hair is black, and it has the scalp attached, just like he used to keep them. My screams turn hysterical as I try to claw my way out of the stall. The door is jammed.

  “Kenai!” I scream.

  I scream and scream, even after the door slams open. I keep screaming until my voice is hoarse and my legs give way. I fall to the ground and a second later something shifts and Kenai appears in the doorway, eyes dropping to the ground.

  “No,” he rasps, reaching for me and lifting me into his arms.

  “He was here again,” I wail. “I could hear a r-r-r-recording of me and him … when he had me. Then … that…”

  Kenai’s eyes drop to the scalp and the horror that washes over his features matches my own. He carries me outside while looking around to see if he can see anyone, carefully placing me on my feet on the soft grass. He swipes my tear dampened hair from my face and cups my cheeks in his hands. “Breathe, real deep.”

  Panic seizes my chest. “He’s going to find me. He’s going to get me. He’s going to—”

  The all too familiar tightening in my chest lets me know a panic attack is about to hit full force. I press the back of my hand to my mouth to try to stifle my terrified moan of pain.

  “Marlie, breathe, with me, come on.”

  He inhales and I try to shakily copy him.

  Then he exhales.

  We do this until my breathing gets back to normal and my tears dry up. The owner of the gas station came out to ask if there was a problem. Kenai told him I was car sick, and he shrugged and went back inside.

  “I’m going to go back in there and check it out. Stand here, call out to me if
you need me.”

  I nod, wrapping my arms around myself.

  Kenai goes back into the restroom while I look around. It seems deserted, yet I know he’s out there somewhere, watching, waiting.

  “You won’t beat me down,” I say softly to myself. “Not this time.”

  Not this time.

  * * *

  “There was a note attached to it,” Kenai says later that night after we’ve stopped for the evening.

  I’m sitting on the bed in the hotel room, but my head whips up when he says that. “There was? What did it say?”

  He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small slip of paper. I don’t know what he did with the hair, and I don’t care. He said he took care of it, and that’s all I need to know. I didn’t know there was a note, however. I extend my hand, but he hesitates.

  “I can handle it, Kenai. I know I freaked out back there, but I’m not going to let this beat me. I won’t let him win. Please.”

  He sighs and stands, then walks over and places the note in my hand.

  I unfold it and read the scrawly writing.

  I’m watching you. Always.

  Your hair will look lovely next to your sister’s.

  I scrunch the note in my fist and fight down the goose bumps that rise all over my skin. “Oh God…”

  “It’s a threat. Don’t let it get to you, Marlie.”

  “What if Kaity’s already … already…”

  “Hey,” he says, coming over and sitting beside me. “Don’t let him win. We’re going to find her, and we’re going to end this once and for all.”

  “It just doesn’t make sense,” I say, tucking my legs beneath me. “Why not just take me? Obviously whoever this is, is more interested in me.”

  “It’s a game,” Kenai says, walking over and dropping down onto the bed beside me. “It’s a mindfuck. Whoever it is took your sister for revenge, I’d guess.”

  “Do you still think it’s a copycat? Or do you think it’s possible that Clayton wasn’t really killed.”

  “I think letting us believe Kaity was taken by Chris was a way of upping the stakes, freaking us out, getting our minds working, and possibly buying time. Now the game has shifted; now it’s become focused on tormenting you.”

  “Do you think Kaity is safe then?”

  He shakes his head. “No. If anything, I worry she’s in more danger because she’s being used as bait.”

  I shudder. “Do you think this could be Georgia, Clayton’s sister?”

  Kenai shrugs. “I’m not sure. What I am sure of though, is that whoever it is has some connection to Clayton. Questioning Georgia is a good place to start. She might be able to tell us something about their parents or about any family members they were close to before they were put into the foster care system.”

  “Do you think it could be a close friend from the foster home?”

  “Possibly. We’ll explore that angle too, once we know more about his birth family.”

  “I’m scared, Kenai,” I whisper.

  He pulls me into his arms. “I know you are, but I need you to be strong. Can you do that? I’m not going to let anyone hurt you, sweetheart.”

  “I know.”

  “You trust me?”

  I nestle closer. “Always.”

  EIGHTEEN

  “Are you sure we’re on the right path?” I ask, narrowing my eyes as Kenai turns down a dirt road a good distance out of town.

  “Yep, I’ve confirmed the address. This is the right way.”

  “So his sister lives out of town?”

  Kenai nods. “Seems so. San Diego is pretty big.”

  We keep driving down the long, deserted dirt road until we reach an old cottage set amongst some large trees. “Here it is,” Kenai murmurs.

  I get a tremble as I study the old, run-down place. It doesn’t look lived in. It looks like it’s barely standing. “It doesn’t look like anyone lives here,” I say.

  “Looks can be deceiving,” he responds, stopping the car and climbing out. “You coming?”

  I stare at the house. It’s old, so old there are pieces of weatherboard hanging off the side. The paint is faded and cracked. The roof looks like half of it had been torn off at some point and was hastily slapped back on. It’s the scariest, most awful house I’ve ever seen.

  I take a deep breath then shove the door open and climb out. I’m not sure if I’m ready to come face-to-face with Clayton’s sister, with someone who is related to him, someone who shares his blood. Was she close with her brother? Will she know who I am? Will she even want to help us?

  I take Kenai’s hand as we move closer, but he comes to a stop before we even reach the door. It takes me a moment to realize why.

  “What is that smell?” I whisper, pressing my free hand to my nose.

  “I’d know that anywhere. Stay here.”

  “Kenai—”

  “Stay here, Marlie.”

  I do as he says, stopping as he goes up onto the little front porch and disappears into the house. He’s in there a few minutes, and the entire time, I’m scanning the area around us, wondering if we’re being watched. Nervously, I rub my arms until he finally comes back out with his hand pressed over his nose. “She’s dead.”

  I blink. “What?”

  “His sister’s dead, if that’s his sister in there. Gunshot to the head. Zero struggle. Whoever killed her knew her, and she wasn’t suspecting it. I’ve covered the body. I need to search the house. You want to wait out here?”

  I shake my head. “No, I can handle it. I want to help you. I know Kaity’s things—if there’s any chance there is something of hers lying around here, I’ll be able to tell you.”

  He nods.

  I follow him into the house.

  The smell is out of this world. I find a cloth in a kitchen cupboard and press it to my nose while I avoid looking at the body under the sheet. There is blood on the floor beside it. I avoid looking at that, too.

  “I’ll check the bedroom,” I say, moving in that direction.

  It’s a tiny space, with an old rusted bed and a cheap desk in the corner. There are no curtains and the window looks like it’s been left open for a long time. I don’t know the woman, but this isn’t a way for anyone to live. I carefully walk across the floor, which is partially covered in a shaggy, dirty rug. I go to the bed first and pull back the covers. Dirty sheets. Nothing else.

  I look beneath it. Dust. Nothing else.

  I move to the desk and open drawers and cupboards and flick through papers. There isn’t anything of interest here except a couple of bills and some old books. I open them, flicking through the pages to make sure nothing is hidden there. All of a sudden a tiny key drops out. I reach down and pick up the rusted little object. I glance around the room, trying to figure out what it unlocks. Nothing on the desk is lockable.

  I do three slow laps around the room, then go back to the desk. It has to be the desk. I take it and use all my strength to pull it towards me. I then duck around behind it and see a tiny compartment in the back with a keyhole. I squeeze into the tight space, slide the key in, and unlock the door. Inside is an old, well-worn diary. I squeeze back out and go sit on the bed. I open the diary to a random page and begin to read.

  Dear Diary,

  He’s gone again. I know what he’s doing. I always know what he’s doing. I’m so afraid. For him. For our child. For me. I know I should do something, but I’m so scared of how he’ll react. He’s already corrupted her. Today she came to me with a dead mouse—she had peeled its skin from its body. I’m terrified the devil is already in her. How can he not be? She was born into this world evil, and nothing I can do seems to be able to protect her.

  I’m so afraid.

  I’m so trapped.

  My throat tightens. I open up another random section.

  Dear Diary,

  She scares me. My own daughter scares me. It’s his fault. Or maybe it’s mine. A child born through incest, of course she was going to b
e evil. I had no choice. He forced himself on me. I could do nothing to stop it. Now another monster is being created. I think she’s worse. I can see it in her eyes. I can see the evil he has created. He’s so proud of her. So proud of the disturbing thoughts coming from her mind.

  Today she threw a knife at me.

  They both laughed.

  I’m so afraid.

  Oh. My. God.

  I rub my chest, trying to stop the vomit from rising. Clayton raped his own sister, and they had a child together. A child. An evil child.

  That poor, poor woman.

  I flick to the last page, wondering about the date of the last entry. It was three days ago.

  Dear Diary,

  She’s gone, but she’ll be back.

  I know this is the end. She’s evil by blood and by nature. She wants to follow in his footsteps. She wants revenge. She can’t see any wrong. When he died, all she could do was hate. She said nobody understood. She said her father wasn’t the monster, that those girls were the monsters. She believes it. She believes in his evil. I can’t live like this anymore. I can’t live with her threats. I can’t live knowing what kind of monster my child has turned into.

  I know she’ll be back.

  Any day now.

  And I know that this time, she’ll kill me.

  I welcome it. I’m ready to escape this nightmare.

  Tears run down my face, and I swipe them away. Her own daughter killed her.

  “What is it?”

  I look up to see Kenai coming in, papers and books in his hands.

  “He has a daughter, a daughter he had with his own sister. I found a diary, her diary.” I point towards the living room. “She expresses how afraid she was, how evil her daughter is, how she’s just like her father. In the last entry she said she knows that she’s going to kill her, and she welcomes it. Her own daughter killed her. Clayton has a replica of him out there somewhere.”

  Kenai looks horrified. “It’s his daughter doing this?”

  “I think so,” I whisper. “We need to find her.”

  Kenai nods. “I got as much as I can, let’s get out of here.”

  “What about the body?”

  Kenai shakes his head. “Let me worry about that. Let’s just leave. I have a bad feeling about this place.”